Review/Television; New Time, New Place, Same Humor

By JANET MASLIN

Published: August 31, 1993

The gap between 11:35 and 12:35 turns out to be one that can be measured only in minutes, not in light-years. David Letterman's new "Late Show," the version of his talk show reinvented for a larger, presumably more wide-awake audience, turns out to be as savvy and caustic as its NBC incarnation. Although Mr. Letterman began his new stint with obviously rekindled energy, the show's actual format was remarkably close to its predecessor's. Actionably close, as a matter of fact -- and of course Mr. Letterman made his legal skirmish with NBC one of the night's main sources of fun.

Striding onto the stage of a handsomely refurbished Ed Sullivan Theater, to an introduction wittily patched together from old Ed Sullivan clips (Mr. Letterman was variously "a fabulous boy prodigy," "my handsome Italian paisano" and "the most amazing of all the chimp acts ever to come on the show"), CBS's new star wickedly took aim at his old employers. "Legally, I can continue to call myself Dave," he explained, while also claiming to have found a peacock's head in his bed. Along came the NBC News anchor Tom Brokaw, obviously a man who enjoys living dangerously, to wish Mr. Letterman "reasonably well" and to confiscate a couple of cue cards, saying they were the intellectual property of NBC. Not surprisingly, Mr. Letterman found a lot to work with there, too.

Fortunately, the new show made it clear that Mr. Letterman means to do more than live in the past, even though he has happily retained some of his trademark routines in minutely altered versions. (Reading a Top 10 list of Ways the New Show Will Be Better -- "I'm more focused since my breakup with Loni" was one of them -- he admired a fancy new graphic and joked, "That's about a million bucks right there.") He also made good use of the television verite techniques that have kept him on the cutting edge, and that now make him an ever-greater force to be reckoned with. One cleverly edited sequence took Mr. Letterman to an apparently hype-proof town in New Jersey, where he found people who had honestly never heard of him. He was able to introduce himself as Bryant Gumbel, sincerely insist that the average person watched 22 1/2 hours of television a day, jump into strangers' swimming pools with his clothes on, and otherwise demonstrate that the Letterman brand of performance art is truly formidable and constantly surprising. Mr. Letterman's much-discussed liability, his tendency to cross the line from supremely dry wit to real cruelty, was also on display. One early segment presented a slow-motion montage about the workers who renovated the Ed Sullivan Theater, turning it into an airier, roomier version of his NBC set. Then out came the construction workers themselves, as a titled flashed "Construction Workers!" and the workers squirmed uneasily and gaped at the star. "You folks did a wonderful job," he told them. "You have my undying gratitude. Now get back on the streets and start hollering at girls."

Less comically absurd than it might have seemed in his later time slot, the gag had a potentially nasty edge, but it also had a payoff. Bill Murray, who was Mr. Letterman's first guest on his previous show and was back last night for sentimental reasons, presented a rambling psychodrama involving spray paint, a somersault and a quick clip of himself impersonating a construction worker. He sobbed about being a fraud, and Mr. Letterman played straight man. But on his first show, the spirited and feisty Mr. Letterman was much funnier than his guests.

Also on the debut show were Billy Joel, whose appearance was billed, and Paul Newman, who turned up in the audience after being introduced by one more clever Ed Sullivan apparition. "Where the hell are the singing cats?" Mr. Newman demanded to know, pretending to be lost en route to the musical just down the street. Then he marched out of the theater, leaving Mr. Letterman to marvel at his delivery, his appearance and, of course, at his line. Mr. Letterman's generosity won out over his fondness for the put-down.

Among the show's more spontaneous-looking moments was one in which Mr. Murray tore the host's driver's license out of his wallet, then read off what may have been his real address on the air. "Come on by Sunday if you can," Mr. Letterman said dryly, having already alluded to the woman who breaks into his Connecticut home, and having demonstrated his strangely inviting sense of the grotesque. He's probably safe at home on Sundays. But a lot of viewers will be back to see him on weeknights if he keeps up the wit and energyof his auspicious opening show.

Photo: With David Letterman's encouragement, Bill Murray added a dash of color to the set during the premiere of "Late Show With David Letterman" last night at the Ed Sullivan Theater on Broadway. (Associated Press)